Push Your Head Towards the Air
by Bojangles78
Summary: A suspiciously quiet few weeks have left the Tracys, Jeff in particular, on edge, waiting for a catastrophe.


**A/N Ok, this is the third (and hopefully final) time that I've edited this story, I've changed it to a place I LOVE- Lyme Regis/Charmouth on the Jurassic Coast in Dorset, England. Third time lucky?**

* * *

"Ow!"

The scream of pain, and the swearing that followed it, could be heard clearly all over the island.

Jeff Tracy strode into the room to find his son Gordon laid on the floor, an old plastic crate on top of him.

"Gordon Tracy, what is the meaning of this appalling language?" Jeff had brought up his boys to be well-spoken and polite, or so he though.

"Sorry Dad, I was getting the fairy lights down and slipped," replied Gordon from his position amongst metres of tinsel and around 50 baubles.

"Don't let it happen again, son, or I'll have you up in Thunderbird 5 for next month." Gordon watched as his father walked out of the room; presumably back to his desk where he could resume surveying the universe and any possible impending catastrophes.

The week continued in this manner, with Tracy Island even getting some snow, albeit thanks to one of Brains' ingenious inventions. Two weeks to Christmas. Everyone was becoming steadily more and more excited, even if they weren't showing it. It had been a quiet couple of weeks for International Rescue, with only an Australian bush fire to contend with. They had used the welcome holiday in different ways: Jeff had been pacing the corridors anxiously, certain that there was going to be a call for help any minute; Brains, after coating the island in fake snow, had devised a way that allowed Thunderbird 5 to be remote controlled for short periods of time, allowing John to return for Christmas; and Virgil had been driving his brothers crazy by playing carols on the family's grand piano- if Scott heard 'Santa Claus Is Coming To Town' one more time he would probably end up strangling his little brother, or failing that, the small dancing Father Christmas Tin-Tin had insisted on placing on the fireplace.

* * *

Harlie McIntyre stepped off of the bus, remembering to pick up her small suitcase, and began to walk down the road that would take her to the Charmouth seafront, passing the house where they had been taken on 'holiday' sometimes, although it was only about 15 minutes away from Lyme Regis, where she lived. The house still looked much the same, although the front door was a neutral cream colour, masking the bright red it had once been.

In truth, she had not planned to go to Charmouth; she was actually headed for Lyme Regis a few miles down the road, but she had about an hour to spare before the bus she needed to catch arrived. About a month ago, on the 20th November to be exact, she had received an invitation to a Christmas dinner at the Lyme Regis orphanage she had grown up in, having nothing better to do, she accepted the invitation; her last few Christmases had been spent alone so maybe this year she could find someone to share it with.

It was raining, as it usually tends to be in December, and Harlie had to stop a few times on her way down as the wind nearly swept her off of her feet. Most people would avoid the seafront in this weather, but around 16 years of holidays to the beach had taught Harlie not to be too particular about the weather. She reached for her umbrella, only to realise that she had left it on one of the many trains she had taken from Liverpool to Southampton. Still, it would be next to useless in the gale, and she had, thankfully, remembered her waterproof.

The car park was, for the first time since she could remember, completely empty. Not even the most dedicated dog-walkers had attempted to bring their beloved pets here. There was no-one around, which was almost exactly how Harlie liked it, although it would have been nice if it wasn't raining. As she fought her way across the stones, she began thinking about the people who would be at the orphanage: Mark Everett, who had taken her marbles briefly when they were six, until she hit him in the business area and he dropped them; Ellie Daley who had bullied her from around her 10th to her 16th birthday; Harvey Bernard, the only one she had kept in touch with since she started University, she knew he was going to be there as he had told her how he was planning on bringing his boyfriend with him. He had been the one who stood up for her when she was getting told off for hitting Mark Everett after he told on her, and had always been there when Ellie Daley had been her usual nasty self. She wondered if Mrs Peters, the cook would be there; her chocolate cakes were worth falling off your bike for.

Tomorrow evening she would leave her room in the Alexandra Hotel at the top of the High Street, and head for the Orphanage, what she did until then was completely up to her, something that Harlie was still getting used to. She could come back to Charmouth if the weather had improved, look in the shops in the High Street (and buy some coffee flavour fudge), but she decided that the first thing she would do tomorrow would be to wake up early and walk down to the Cobb to watch the sunrise, a sight that she had seen as she woke every day for 17 years.


End file.
